


A Tree Grows in Hightown

by EradiKate



Series: The Scarlet Band [1]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Awkward Flirting, F/M, Purple Hawke (Dragon Age), Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 06:10:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20559524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EradiKate/pseuds/EradiKate
Summary: In his first year in Kirkwall, Fenris makes some observations about Hawke.





	A Tree Grows in Hightown

Fenris didn’t think too much about his surroundings. He had a place to sleep, a well-stocked wine cellar, and that was all he needed. Aveline saw to it that nobody bothered him, Varric poked his head in occasionally to make sure he was eating, and if he craved company Isabela could always be found at the Hanged Man. Fenris didn’t mind the dust and he certainly never thought twice about the yard.

Hawke did, though. His first spring in Kirkwall, he woke one afternoon to gleeful shouts followed by a crash and a string of rather inventive Fereldan curses. By then, he recognized her voice easily enough, answered by a slightly higher version.

“Charlotte, he’s probably out, you’re going to wreck this kitchen looking for a vase.”

“Sunshine’s right, Hawke,” that would be the dwarf, “although I doubt anyone else will be able to tell the difference.”

Not bothering to put on a shirt, he made his way downstairs and paused at the odd scene before him. Bethany and Varric stood in the main room, near-identical expressions of impatient amusement on their faces. Sprawled on the floor of the kitchen was Charlotte Hawke, surrounded by dented pots and broken crockery.

As usual, she wore her armor. He doubted she ever took it off. It also wasn’t unusual to see her in a less than graceful pose. If Hawke wasn’t fighting, she was uncertain of where to put her arms and legs. Fenris could sympathize. He was never sure of what to do with himself if he didn’t have his sword in hand.

No, the strange thing was that rather than her dagger, Hawke was holding aloft a bundle of sticks covered in pale pink blossoms. And though it was almost the last thing he’d expected of her, somehow they seemed right in her hand.

“Fenris!” she crowed, waving her flowers triumphantly. “Did you know you’ve got a peach tree in your yard?”

* * *

Most of the gardens of Hightown were strictly for show. Fenris didn’t know the names of the flowers that bloomed by his front door, he only knew that they had no practical purpose. He ignored them, for the most part. Hawke would occasionally pluck them, gloating over roses or whatnot like a princess would her jewels. If Merrill was handy, the two women would coo over plants like they were particularly precocious children.

Though he never quite understood them, he watched the tree Hawke had informed him was a peach with interest. Peaches didn’t grow in Tevinter and based on her enthusiastic (if somewhat scattered) description, they were the most delicious thing to ever grace a tree. Isabela had shrugged at them, claiming wine was the only good thing to ever come from a fruit, but he still examined the tree regularly. Once the blossoms faded, it didn’t look like much. 

Not according to Hawke. She came by regularly, sometimes to ask his help with the errand of the day but just as frequently simply to speak to him. Each time, she’d finger the leaves lovingly and have to tear herself away.

How backwards everything was, Fenris thought. Hawke, who had grown up on a farm, was stuck in the squalid slums of Lowtown while he, a slave of the Imperium, rested easily in a mansion surrounded by gardens. Though she never betrayed it by word, he understood that to be surrounded by ugliness sapped something from her, that she craved beauty the way a drowning man needed air. She snatched at loveliness the way he struggled for freedom.

Perhaps that was why he never begrudged her visits, even though the woman could talk the ear off a deaf magister.

* * *

The fruits, when they first appeared, were small, hard, and green. Bitter, when Fenris tasted one at Hawke’s urging. She had to wipe away tears, trying to compose herself after seeing the look on his face, only to double over in laughter again when he threw the rest of it at her.

She quickly returned the favor with a wilted blossom, but before it could turn into an all-out plant war, Sebastian cleared his throat with extreme prejudice. “Are we going to retrieve that map, or are we going to faff about all day?”

Hawke affected an affronted grimace while her sister tried and failed to hide a smile. “This is highly important business, Sebastian! How often does one have the opportunity to foist unripe fruit off on a friend for one’s own amusement?”

“A friend? Hawke, you have the strangest social skills of anyone I’ve ever met, and I traveled with a Sister who spoke only one sentence a year.” Sebastian shouldered his bow and frowned at the both of them–as though Fenris had asked for anything more than some assistance chasing off slavers. Indeed, at times (particularly if that abomination was about) he nearly regretted asking for her help.

“We can’t all promise eternal appreciation for avenging our murdered families, Sebastian.” Hawke spun one of her knives lazily and winked at Fenris, who found himself a little warm around the collar despite his earlier flash of annoyance. “Some of us have to rely on whatever charms we possess by the Maker’s grace.”

“Careful, Hawke,” Bethany teased. “If Anders was here, he’d–”

“Well, he’s not!” Hawke snapped, turning red and looking pointedly at the sky. “Let’s go. Come on, Sebastian, you were eager to get moving just a minute ago.” She stomped off in the direction of the city gates, Bethany sauntering after her and suggesting what the abomination might consider to be Hawke’s charms. To Fenris’ relief, Hawke did not seem to appreciate any of them.

Deciding it would be best to let the sisters bicker uninterrupted, Fenris picked up the white flower from where it had fallen at his feet and trailed after them.

* * *

Weeks passed without Hawke stopping to visit; weeks passed without rain. The few trees in Lowtown seemed to shrink upon themselves as their leaves turned brittle and brown, but Fenris was determined that the peach tree she had admired would not suffer the same fate, and so he lugged jugs of water out to it every morning. In spite of his efforts, though, the leaves yellowed even though the fruit grew.

One such morning, he found her sitting on the cracked stone bench, staring wistfully at what was left of the lilies. She smiled nervously when she saw him and scooted over to make room. Unsure of what else to do, he sat next to her.

“Looks like I won’t be around for that first peach after all,” she said, with a tinge of sadness to her normally bright voice. “I’ve got the coin for that Deep Roads expedition and Bartrand wants to leave as soon as possible.”

He surprised himself with his response. “Do you want me to come with you? It’s been oddly quiet without you around. I think I’ve become accustomed to your presence.”

“Have you, now?” He caught what might have been a slight sob but pretended not to notice. “As much as I appreciate the offer, Fenris, no. I have to take Varric, of course, and Anders, and don’t think I haven’t noticed how you despise him.”

He saw no point in arguing. “I don’t trust him.”

Hawke shrugged. “I came to...say goodbye, I suppose. I’ll miss you. And this garden. You’ve been very kind, this summer, letting me come and go as I pleased. I owe you for that.” She lifted her hand as if to gesture at something, but let it drop to the bench and sighed.

“You may not need my garden once you have found your fortune in the Deep Roads,” Fenris said, reaching over to cover her hand with his. “All the same, you are welcome to it whenever you like. And I shall miss you, as well.”


End file.
